


Excuse the mess I've made

by Cirkne



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, Getting Together, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Violence, Multi, jefferson/hamilton lowkey not quite friendship, mostly fluff with some angsty hamilton bc that man is an ansgt machine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirkne/pseuds/Cirkne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"The next time I get a call at one in the morning from Thomas saying not to worry because he took you to John, you're dead meat, Alex."</i>
</p>
<p>Five times Alexander and Thomas don't end up arguing and one time they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excuse the mess I've made

**Author's Note:**

> My second 5+1 things ham fic bc apparently i like writing this way?
> 
> A thank to Swats for being the best beta 
> 
> "Excuse the mess I've made, I'm just trying to get clean" is a line from dirty world by Daveed Diggs and honestly? fucks me up

i.

Alexander finds Jefferson, hair tied back, sitting on the floor. His expensive suit pants are probably dirty now and his book bag has fallen on it's side, contents almost spilling but not quite. For a moment he looks so simple, so unlike himself, that Alexander doesn't realize it's him. Then Jefferson moves his expensive watch slightly, something he does when he doesn't know what to say - a nervous habit, Alexander guesses - and he recognizes him.

"Jefferson," He says, his voice cold and mean and the way it always sounds around Jefferson. Alexander, although he doesn't like admitting it, is a man of habit and arguing with Jefferson has become so ordinary for him it's easy to slip back into. Except:

"Not now, Hamilton," Jefferson says. His voice doesn't have it's usual cockiness to it. It just sounds tired - sad, even, and Alexander stills.

"What?" He asks, ready to continue, to find whatever topic they could fight about or just to insult his enemy, when Jefferson lifts his head up from whatever he’s reading and looks at him.

"Not now," He repeats, and it almost sounds like pleading. This is the first time, Alexander realizes, he's ever had to look down at Jefferson in the literal sense. Alexander swallows, then nods, and watches Jefferson go back to the papers in his hands. It looks like a letter. Alexander only stays there for a moment and then he walks past Jefferson and towards his dorm room.

He wonders, briefly, why he listened, and doesn't want to admit to himself that he stopped outright hating Jefferson months ago. By now this - whatever it is - that they have going on is just a familiar, easy routine. As Lafayette had put it one evening: to balance out how fast-paced his life is, Alexander surrounds himself with things that don't change, and Jefferson is just another constant.

He opens the door to his dorm room to find Lafayette sitting on the corner of Alexander's bed, their phone pressed to their ear and their eyes shut so hard it looks like it might hurt.

"Lafayette?" Alexander asks, too quiet for himself, afraid that maybe this isn't the time. They open their eyes and turn to look at him, but they're frowning still and they look tired.

"Hello," They say and sigh, running a hand through their hair. "You wouldn't have happened to see Thomas on your way here, would you?" They ask with no real expectation.

"Actually," Alexander answers, causing Lafayette to look at him again, "He's sitting on the floor by the stairs to the second floor."

Lafayette stands up then, shoves their phone in their pocket, and grins.

"Alexander, my love," They say, standing up and walking over to him, pressing their lips to his cheek. "You really are my favorite." Before Alexander can react or ask what's wrong with Jefferson, they're running out of the room.

ii.

His body is a house built years ago, abandoned, left for nature to demolish; left to crumble and cave in on itself. He is the definition of self destruction, only alive when he’s close to death, he thinks scars are there to prove that you lived.

It's not the first time he's been thrown out of a bar, his knuckles bruised and blood running down his face. He knows it hurts but his pain feels muted by everything else surrounding him; the voices inside, the scraping of chairs, the noise of a crowd, the smell of what he can only describe as cold, with the taste of copper and beer in his mouth. He cannot see, his eyes sealed shut with drying blood and even if he could he doubts anything would be less blurry.

He hears steps - quick, loud, coming towards him. He cannot move away, but wonders if he should, wonders if this is how he dies, wonders what exactly he will be remembered for, if at all. He wonders if he should say something, wonders if last words matter when no one is there to hear them.

The steps stop and Alexander knows someone is next to him.

"Hamilton?" A voice - Jefferson's voice - asks. Alexander thinks: oh, I won't die tonight, and doesn't know if he feels relieved or disappointed. "You're bleeding. Are you-" Alexander notices, even in his current state, that Jefferson's voice is shaking. "Shit, I'm calling Lafayette."

"No!" Alexander says hurriedly, his voice hoarse. He starts to feel dizzy, or maybe he's only noticing it now. "Don't. Not Lafayette. They can't- they won't- not Lafayette, _please_ ," He feels like he's going to throw up. Lafayette would take him to the emergency room. He loves them but that is not a luxury he can afford.

"Then who the fuck else?" Jefferson asks, and Alexander flinches at how annoyed he sounds all of a sudden, wonders why it takes him by surprise when it's always like this.

"John," He answers after a moment, wetting his lips. It tastes like blood. "Call John." 

"Where's your phone?" Jefferson asks, but by the time Alexander reacts he already has his hand in Alexander's jacket pocket, pulling it out.

Alexander tries to remember if they're far from John's apartment but he doesn't know where he is exactly, so he focuses on breathing instead. At some point, Jefferson picks him up, and Alexander knows he heard him talking to John, but he can't remember anything he said.

Awhile later, he can feel John helping Jefferson carry him to the shower. Jefferson leaves. John presses something wet and warm to his head, wipes at the dried blood, sighs.

"One day I'll get the call that you're dead," He says and it doesn't sound like he's warning Alexander; just like he's stating a fact. Alexander tries not to think about it. John stays up the whole night, wakes Alexander up every hour to check he's still conscious.

iii.

"The next time I get a call at one in the morning from Thomas saying not to worry because he took you to John, you're dead meat, Alex," Lafayette tells him while Alexander eats the breakfast they brought him. John had passed out as soon as Lafayette showed up, saying he'll be happy Alexander didn't die once he's rested, and Alexander sits on the corner of his bed now, John's knees pressed to his back. Lafayette sits to his side, knee bouncing lightly.

"I told him not to call you," Alexander answers around his fork, and Lafayette turns to glare at him. Alexander doesn't know if it's because he's talking with his mouth full or because of what he said. Probably both. "Thanks for the food, by the way."

"Yeah," Lafayette sighs, while running a hand down their face. "Just don't die, ok? At least not until you get your stupid degree. Alex, there's only so much left until we graduate."

"Don't you immediately pass all of your classes if I kill myself?" He asks, and watches Lafayette clench and unclench their fists.

"Alex," They say, or hiss, and it sounds like it's taking them everything they have not to yell or storm out, and then softer, calmer, quieter; "My love," almost pleading.

"Sorry," Alexander says, shoves the last of his breakfast into his mouth and swallows, sets the plate down on the floor. "What did Thomas say anyway?" He asks.

"You're calling him Thomas now?" Lafayette asks instead, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm pretty sure he saved my life yesterday, so bite me," Alexander tells them, then he rests his head on their shoulder and just breathes. "I-" He starts to say, then Lafayette's phone rings.

When Lafayette gets their phone from their pocket, it's Thomas. Instead of answering it, they hand the phone to Alexander.

"This is Alexander," He says. Lafayette laces their fingers together.

"So," Thomas says, almost mockingly but not quite. On the other end of the line, Alexander can hear shuffling and voices he can't make out. "You're alive."

"Unfortunately," Alexander says. John shifts behind him, bumps Alexander's back with his knee. Alexander turns to look at him, expecting John to look back, but he's still sleeping.

"Unfortunately," Thomas repeats, more like he's weighing the word on his tongue than anything else. There's a pause, a breath. Alexander licks his lips.

"Yep," He says, focuses on Lafayette next to him, their skin radiating heat. "Thank you."

"You owe me," Jefferson tells him. Alexander leans into Lafayette again.

"Sure," he answers, drums his fingers against the back of Lafayette's hand, tries to think of something else to say and comes up empty.

"Bye, Alexander," Thomas says after a moment. Alexander hums, the call ends, and he hands the phone back to Lafayette.

"What did he want?" Lafayette asks. Alexander watches their hands, thinks of John behind him, thinks of the cut on his scalp from where he hit the bar and the smaller one on his right eyebrow; from a punch. Thinks of how he might not have been alive to sit here like this.

"To check on me," Alexander answers, turns to look at Lafayette, glances at their lips before looking in their eyes. He thinks back to three days ago, when they had said he was their favorite. He wonders if that's true, doesn't dare ask.

iv.

"Alexander," John says the next day, as they're standing in his kitchen and he's trying to find a vase for the flowers that Alexander has brought him - stolen from someone's garden. "You really didn't have to."

"My dear," Alexander answers, leans against John's kitchen table. "You didn't sleep the entire night just so you could take care of me. Of course I did."

"I'm a med student, I had to," John says, reaching for a vase on the top shelf. His shirt lifts a little. He has freckles on his back, too.

"Suddenly I feel a lot less special," Alexander jokes, focuses his eyes on the flowers. "How many other guys do you wash blood off of?"

John snorts, walks to the sink to fill the vase with water before placing it on the counter, and turns to Alexander, finally. There are bags under his eyes, Alexander wonders if they're his fault.

"So how's your head?" John asks, takes a step closer to him. "I didn't get to ask you yesterday since you left," He moves Alexander's hair to get to his bigger cut, runs his thumb carefully on it. "Thanks, by the way, for the dirty dishes you left on my floor."

"Sorry," Alexander says, avoids John's eyes, settles on his neck. "To repay you I am taking you, my dearest, to lunch."

John snorts, moves his hand away, but stays standing just as close, tilts his head and squints at Alexander.

"Since when do you have the money to take me out to lunch?" He asks, smiling. His lips are chapped. Alexander looks down at his hands.

"I don't," He admits. "But I want to and we're going to do it even if you argue because I'm stubborn and determined."

"Sure," John laughs, watches Alexander for a moment longer and then shrugs, and repeats: "Sure. Just let me get my jacket."

"Is my love not enough to keep you warm?" Alexander asks, mock offended. John swats in his direction and goes to get his jacket.

"Why am I friends with you?" He asks, loudly. Alexander grins, goes to put on his shoes.

"I'll tell you once I find out," He answers as leans on the wall to put on his sneakers. They're bright green. He thinks green is his favorite color. He smooths down his shirt, fixes his hair, swallows. John comes back with his jacket in hand, and Alexander doesn't look him in the eyes.

Outside, Thomas stands, holding a cup of coffee.

"Alexander," He says, almost like he's glad to see him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Thomas," Alexander answers easily, and motions a hand to Thomas' suit, bright purple of all things. "I see you're just as thirsty for attention as always."

"Yes, well," He answers. "Not everyone can care as little about their appearance as you do." Thomas smirks, drags a finger across the rim of his coffee cup, smiles proudly. Alexander opens his mouth to insult him back but John links their arms.

"I believe you promised me lunch?" He asks, looking straight at Alexander, voice too sweet for him, a fake smile splitting his face.

"You're right, my dear, I apologize," Alexander says. "We'll finish this later," He tells Thomas and lets John lead him away.

v.

It happens the way most things in his life do: suddenly, way too quickly, and yet too slow for him. He's sitting outside of the library, an hour before his next class, a book in his lap and John and Lafayette on either side of him. Both of them are wearing T-shirts and shorts while Alexander sits in layers, tells them they don't know real heat.

"Do you miss it?" John asks, voice low like he's asking Alexander to share a secret.

"Of course," Alexander says, toying with the pages of the book in his lap. "I wish I could take you two there sometime." 

And then, Lafayette is holding his head in their hands, kissing him, their lips soft and gentle and just a little bit needy, just a little bit selfish in the way they pull him closer, hold him tighter, lick their way into his mouth.

John finds Alexander's hand on the book, makes him drop it, laces their fingers together, hums next to them. Oh, Alexander thinks, moving his other hand to Lafayette's neck, pulling them as close as he can, pressing against them.

He pulls back and grins, fights the urge to kiss Lafayette again, and turns to John.

"Did you two," He starts to say, and needs to stop because he's breathless. Lafayette leans closer to him and then over him and pulls John in for a kiss. They look like they've done it before. John smiles into the kiss, Lafayette bites at his bottom lip. Alexander blinks and then blinks again and tries to think of something to say but it's all just unfinished sentences in his head.

It's racing, his head is spinning, he doesn't know where to put his hands, doesn't know how to move, doesn't know how to say: _yes, yes, yes_ , the way they deserve it. 

"I feel like I've been waiting for this all my life," He settles for eventually, and both Lafayette and John snort, pull away from each other.

"You're so dramatic," John tells him, and Alexander tangles his fingers in John's hair, grins at him.

"Sure am," He says, and kisses him. His lips are as soft and he tastes, in some weird way, like early mornings and warmth. Alexander wants to drown himself in it, wants to never stop.

Someone whistles behind them and John pulls away to glare at whoever did it but Alexander keep his fingers in his hair, tries not to think of how swollen his lips feel, of how his mind is racing. If John stops now, he'll break, crumble, fall.

"John," he says, his voice rough and like it isn't his.

"John," Lafayette repeats behind him, their hand on his side, soothing, warm. "Look at him." John does, smiles, and leans in again. Someone whistles once more, closer now. Lafayette's hand twitches on Alexander's side, presses closer to him, almost like his layers of clothes don't matter.

"Fuck off, Thomas," Lafayette calls, light, almost jokingly but for the heat behind it. John takes Alexander's hand, almost like he's afraid he’ll pull away. Alexander, in exchange, deepens the kiss.

+

"You're infuriating," Alexander says, running his hands through his hair, completely sure Thomas started this argument just to annoy him without actually agreeing with the nonsense he's saying.

"At least I have fashion sense," Thomas answers, smirking as he motions at Alexander's sweater, too big for him because it's Lafayette's.

"Hey fuck you Thomas, I remember you borrowing that sweater from me," Lafayette says from where they’re sitting on a blanket on the ground, John half in their lap. They were having a picnic date before Thomas showed up.

"I remember that too," Madison says, standing behind Thomas, two cups of coffee in his hands. Thomas turns to look at him.

"How have I hurt you?" He asks and Alexander grins, uses the distraction to spare a glance at his dates. John's stuffing a sandwich in his mouth, and Lafayette looks absolutely disgusted.

"Are you done?" Alexander asks after a moment, turning back to Thomas. He earns a glare and smirks up at him, wets his lips.

"Absolutely not," Thomas tells him. Madison groans behind him.


End file.
